Читать книгу A Rose At Midnight - Sylvie Kurtz - Страница 13

Christi sped through her morning routine, eager to get out of the house and away from the venomlike antagonism writhing between Daniel and Armand and poisoning the atmosphere. She and Rosane were on their way to the Galeries de la Capitale via the city bus.

As the bus bounced along Grande-Allée and the house disappeared from view, her spirits lifted. The sun sparkled against the snowbanks and warmed her heart, if not the air. She’d purposefully donned her brightest red sweater over her favorite black pants and her wild parrot earrings to cheer her. Now, she found she didn’t need the external props. She was just another mother going to enjoy a day of shopping with her daughter. Tomorrow was soon enough for a serious discussion, she decided, and shrugged off the pinprick of guilt.

The Galeries de la Capitale was a huge two-level mall that boasted more than two hundred and fifty stores, boutiques and restaurants. Large glass windows ran the length of the ceiling down the center courtyard, giving the place a light and airy feel.

“Look, Mom!” Rosane pointed toward the Mega-Parc at the lone skater on the rink. A girl glided easily over the smooth surface as her coach shouted instructions. “Can I try that?”

“It’s harder than it looks, honey.” Christi laughed, remembering the many times she’d wished for a padded bottom when she’d learned to skate.

“Can I? Pe-lease?”

Christi couldn’t refuse Rosane anything when she put on her pleading face. “Let’s go shopping first.”

They saw familiar names like Sears and The Gap among the sea of unfamiliar ones. At La Baie, they found a sale on everything they needed and left the store with two big shopping bags crammed full.

On impulse, Christi ducked into a music store. Music reflected its author. Maybe she could get an insight on what had changed Daniel through his work. She chose a CD of his first album, Shifting Sands, released five years ago and a CD of his latest album, Âme d’Hiver, winter’s soul, released for the Christmas shopping season. She fingered the single red rose on a bed of crystallized snow. To the CDs, she added an inexpensive player and a pack of batteries.

She and Rosane browsed several boutiques before they reached a bookstore.

“How come they have a library in a mall?” Rosane asked.

“Librairie is French for bookstore, honey.”

“Can I pick out a couple of books? I’ve read the one I brought already.”

“Sure.”

Christi wandered the aisles until she reached the mythology section and started leafing through books.

“Can I go find my books now?” Rosane asked, fidgeting.

“Sure. Just stay where I can see you.” Christi’s fingers eagerly snatched several books from the shelf. She’d found the titles she wanted. What answers would they give her?

Unconsciously, her hand dropped to her coat pocket and searched for the roll of Tums she kept there. As she read on, she didn’t even notice the minty chalk sliding down her throat.

NEAR QUEBEC CITY, 1698. Mardi Gras.

Outside a tempest of the devil’s own making brewed. Winds howled. Snow swirled. Temperatures chilled bones to the marrow. But inside, a fire roared and laughter rang loud and warm on this February night.

This was the grandest party of the decade. The whole village was here, feasting and drinking on her father’s generous provisions. Paul, her fiancé, stood at her elbow, his adoration plain on his face. To be sixteen, in love and the center of attention was glorious. Rose had never been happier.